


let the light in

by lacquer



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: (though i tried to keep it minimal), Alternate Universe - College/University, Cooking, Domestic, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Friends to Lovers, Headaches & Migraines, M/M, Mutual Pining, Photo Shoots, Photography, Texting, background seokhao, mentioned dancing, other cameos - Freeform, so much tenderness i'm sorry, vaguely epistolary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:33:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23267770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacquer/pseuds/lacquer
Summary: Kim Mingyu has three problems: A final photography project due in a month. A crush on the lead soloist of his university’s dance troupe. An art studio booked for three weekends in a row with no one to model in it. And really, there's one simple solution to all three of those. All Mingyu has to do is follow through.
Relationships: Kim Mingyu & Xu Ming Hao | The8, Kim Mingyu/Wen Jun Hui | Jun
Comments: 47
Kudos: 194
Collections: ENFANT D'ÉTÉ - ROUND 1





	let the light in

**Author's Note:**

> Written for ENFANT D’ÉTÉ, prompt 226: Photography student Mingyu asks Junhui to be his model for his final project.
> 
> This got seriously out of hand as I was writing it. My _biggest_ most heartfelt thanks to the mods, not only for their hard work during this fest, but also for being so understanding with my many delays, ILU!! Thank you also to everyone who cheered this doc on, endured me complaining about this fic, and sprinted with me, this one is for all of you <33
> 
> I've messed with graduation dates/years of study here a bit, so 95/96 line are in the same graduating class + most of them are in their fifth year of study or are grad students. If you see any discrepancies, just roll with it.
> 
> An additional content warning for a brief mention of disordered eating in here, in the form of forgetting to eat. It’s not addressed super directly, but take care of yourself. There's also some casual drinking.

_"What can you know about a person? They shift_  
_in the light. You can’t light up all sides at once."_  
-Richard Siken, "Portrait of Fryderyk in Shifting Light"

Mingyu has a front row seat to the underworld. Fog rolls over the floor, billowing around the feet of the dancers gathered on stage. All of them are shadows, writhing around a glowing figure in white.

The figure has flowers pinned in his hair and silk ribbons tied to his wrists. He is the most beautiful man Mingyu has ever known. His name is Wen Junhui. 

Junhui swoops like a hawk, bird bones beneath his white silk, and the ensemble around him mirrors the movement. They scatter, leaving him alone.

Mingyu sits front and center in the audience, exactly where he promised Junhui he’d be, and stares, heart in his throat. 

On stage, Junhui throws his head back, one arm lifted towards the sky. Bells chime. Fade. The theater holds its breath. Junhui is framed by the stage lights, and for one perfect second, his stillness could be mistaken for marble.

Mingyu’s fingers itch for a camera.

~

Two days later, Mingyu is sitting in a professor’s office, waiting for feedback on the proposal he had submitted last week. The pile of paper drops onto Dr. Xiao’s desk, and Mingyu shrinks in his seat. His project advisor is normally not an intimidating man, but his expression now is stormy. 

“You and I both know this is not enough, Mingyu. This project represents the sum total of your photography experience, and what you gave me does so in name only. There’s no way I can sign off on something so halfhearted.” He takes off his glasses and rubs his temples. His expression softens. “I know you can do better, too. Is this nerves? Pressure? Is there something I can help you with?”

Mingyu shakes his head and sits on his hands. The papers in front of him are nearly mocking—two weeks of work put into a proposal Dr. Xiao had dismissed in less than a half hour. “It’s not that.” He can feel himself making an expression of some sort. He hopes it doesn't look frustrated. “I guess I just don’t feel… ready for a final project.” Nearly four years at university, and he still feels mostly unprepared to graduate, the possibility of exiting into the larger world frightening at best, soul crushing at worst. 

Dr. Xiao smiles at him. Mingyu can see he’s trying to be comforting, but all it does is make him feel worse. “You’re one of our most promising students, Mingyu. I know it may seem harsh, but I’m not going to accept this work until you can give me something better. You don’t need to create something new, just show me why the project you proposed _matters._ ”

The words itch down his skin. “I understand.” Mingyu picks up the papers Dr. Xiao had dropped on his desk and stands. “When do you want my new proposal?”

“By next week,” Dr. Xiao says. He flips over a calendar and turns it around for Mingyu to see. “I have you penciled in already.”

Mingyu nods and moves to leave, when Dr. Xiao speaks up. “Oh, and Mingyu?” He turns around.

“Yes?”

“You have a model listed here, but no name. Make sure you tell me who you’re working with by our next meeting as well.”

Mingyu nods again, and Dr. Xiao waves his hand. “That’s it, make sure to send in your grading for 3.7 soon.”

A pile of papers has been sitting in Mingyu’s dorm room for days now, stacked neatly next to a red pen. “Will do, thank you Dr. Xiao.”

And with that, he leaves, shutting the door behind him. The day stretches out long and tense before him and Mingyu takes a deep breath, hoping to ease some of the tightness in his chest. It doesn’t really work.

~

[Photograph, taken with an iPhone], EVENING. Light shutters through the blinds of a dorm room, spilling gold over a messy bed. There’s a small desk resting against the opposite wall, and above it is a small cork board with mementos pinned to it. They include polaroids, bar napkins, and at the very top, all in a row, ticket stubs for the university's end of semester dance showcase. They go back four years, each stub pinned carefully in place.

~

A couple hours later, Mingyu finally gets back to the apartment he shares with his roommate, Minghao. The other man is out, most likely in the studio. He has a final project of his own too—a series of paintings he has firmly refused to let anyone who isn’t his advisor see. 

Mingyu has some suspicion of what they are, and is choosing not to comment. Minghao will confirm his thoughts or he won’t, there’s nothing Mingyu can do to change that. 

A couple of minutes are enough for him to drop his things in his room and collapse onto the couch. A hazy edge has descended over his thoughts, everything shaded just a little too bright. A little overexposed. It’s been a long day.

It’s tempting to fall asleep, but Mingyu doesn’t have time for that. He rolls over so he’s facing the ceiling and pulls out his phone, planner app still up when he swipes it open. 

_Party at Seungcheol-hyung’s!_ Is a cheerful reminder in yellow, and Mingyu closes his eyes for a second. With all of the stress surrounding his final project, he had almost forgotten about that. 

He pulls up his conversation with Minghao. 

[Sent 4:19] _hey, are you going to the party tonight?_

He receives a response within a minute. Minghao must be taking a break from painting. 

[Received 4:19] _of course, you are too, right?_

Mingyu nods, even though Minghao can’t see it. 

[Sent 4:20] _just wanted to double check before i got ready, wouldn’t want you to miss it :D_

All he gets from Minghao is a “ _0-0”_ in return, his version of a frog emoji. Mingyu laughs for a second to himself.

[Sent 4:21] _seokmin will probably be there… ;)_

He doesn’t get a response for a long pause, and Mingyu is about to get up and fix dinner when his phone chimes.

[Received 4:23] _junhui told me he would too, you know_

Mingyu rolls of the couch and steps into the small kitchen, firmly ignoring the way his stomach flutters at the thought. He only just remembers to respond to Minghao before getting out the ingredients for fried rice.

[Sent 4:27] _fair enough :/_

~

The party, when Mingyu finally gets to it, is in full swing. 

Seungcheol had been lucky enough to rent a house near campus, one with a basement that muffled sound like nothing else. Mingyu can see colored lights coming from one of the living room windows, and hear music faintly. It’s not nearly as loud as it will be inside. 

Seungcheol himself is a near perfect host, Mingyu knows. Inside, he’ll be carefully tipsy, handing out water bottles like candy. His two roommates, Jeonghan and Jisoo, are the ones to watch out for. Last year, Mingyu had made the mistake of doing shots with them, and had woken up on the back porch, stripped down to his underwear. Minghao had informed him later that he had danced with Junhui for half an hour, thrown up on the lawn, and passed out. 

Point being, Mingyu makes it a point not to get messed up where they can give him ideas anymore.

Pausing outside, Minghao tugs him to a halt. “If you see Seokmin, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

Mingyu quirks an eyebrow. Minghao can be opaque at the best of times, but the request is strange. “You don’t want to talk to him?”

Minghao runs a hand through his hair, messing up the styling he had spent fifteen minutes on. “I don’t want him to think I’m coming on too strong.”

“And talking to him at parties is too much?” Mingyu bites back a laugh. “I don’t think it’s going to make much of a difference.”

The noise Minghao makes is not unlike that of an unhappy cat. “I know. Just, I don’t want to scare him off. I want to make a good impression.”

Mingyu takes a look at Minghao’s outfit, something he had spent twenty minutes on, paired with his disheveled hair and wide eyes. “I think you’ll be fine. Besides, you’ve met him before, right? Let’s go in.”

When they open the door, the only thing that catches Mingyu’s attention is the music—just a bit louder than it was before. The small entrance room doesn’t have anyone in it. He takes off his shoes and puts them in the ever growing pool by the door. There are close to forty pairs there; Seungcheol has a lot of friends. His parties are always a mix of new and familiar faces, but all friendly enough that Mingyu feels comfortable enough to relax a little bit. 

Downstairs is significantly louder, music thumping from two speakers set up in the living room space. The song is vaguely familiar, enough so that Mingyu’s head bops to it as he circles the room to greet Seungcheol. 

The host himself is ensconced by a small table full of drinks, gesturing with one hand as he talks to Hansol, Mingyu’s last ex. He waits a second for Seungcheol’s attention to stray, and then waves. 

Seungcheol waves back with a grin, and Mingyu heads into the kitchen. He mixes himself a drink, the promise of catching up with his friends sparkling in his chest. Sunlight over water. Mingyu is still on good terms with Hansol, and he hasn’t seen Seungcheol in a couple of weeks. He’s looking forward to it. Minghao has vanished somewhere as well, but Mingyu’s not worried. The house isn’t that big, he’ll see him soon enough.

He’s proven right approximately an hour later when Minghao slides up to his side, expression moody. Mingyu catches a glimpse of Seokmin following him. He stops when he sees Mingyu and turns away. 

“So—” Mingyu opens his mouth to comment and Minghao shakes his head. 

“Not a word.”

Mingyu closes his mouth and throws an arm around Minghao instead, picking up one of the tiny cupcakes on the snack table and handing it to him. He doesn’t say anything. Eventually Minghao works his way through the cupcake and shakes himself, picking up another one. “I haven’t had the chance to ask yet, how did your meeting with Dr. Xiao go?”

The basement light casts warm shadows on Minghao’s face, and Mingyu looks at him incredulously. The party carries on around them. “You want to ask about this now?”

Minghao takes a moment. Mingyu can see him reassess how the meeting probably went. “Your proposal didn’t get accepted?”

Mingyu picks up a mini cupcake of his own, despondently. “No. Dr. Xiao said I needed to find something that would matter more. Apparently what I have isn’t enough.” When Minghao doesn’t comment, Mingyu continues, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not bad I think, just missing something. I’m not sure what.”

“At least you’re not doing an MFA,” Minghao says consolingly. “It’s a final project not a full on thesis.”

“Yeah,” Mingyu sighs. “Which is why Dr. Xiao can still reject the whole thing if he chooses to.” 

Minghao looks at him for a second. Mingyu knows what he’s thinking ( _it could be worse)_ but the words don’t reach open air. It’s nice of Minghao not to rub it in his face, even if it still feels a little like he’s being judged. What he does say is, “Chin up. You have options. Besides, I saw Junhui here a couple of minutes ago.”

“It’s not like he’ll agree to—” Mingyu says, mind still stuck on the problem of his project, before his brain catches up with his mouth. “I mean, uh.”

“Agree to what?” Minghao says, lips tilted like a cat who had seen a bird stick its neck out too far. 

“Nothing,” Mingyu says, just a little too quickly.

A moment passes. 

“It’s really nothing,” Mingyu says, a little sad, a little slow. It’s a thought that will never come to fruition, anyway.

“Hmmm.” Minghao takes a second before saying, “You want Junhui to model for you.” The words aren’t a question. Of course, it was just like Minghao to connect the dots. Living with someone for too long would do that. The same kind of familiarity that would let him navigate their apartment blindfolded. His home would not move too far.

Mingyu glances around to make sure Junhui isn’t nearby. He isn’t—instead he’s across the room, dancing in the middle of a crowd. “Yes?” It’s definitely a question.

Minghao pours himself a glass of something vaguely pink and fruity. “Why don’t you ask him, then? I’m sure he’d be happy to help with your final project.”

“He’s busy.” Mingyu looks down. “Besides…”

“Besides?”

The pink drink is starting to look awfully tempting. Mingyu makes a grab for Minghao’s glass, only to have it snatched away before he can get close. “I don’t want him to think I want him to model for me just because he’s beautiful.”

Minghao raises an eyebrow, and takes a sip of his drink. He winces at the taste and hands it to Mingyu anyway. “Isn’t that exactly why?”

Mingyu takes the drink. “Kinda?”

Minghao snorts on a laugh. “You can’t have it both ways Mingyu.”

“It’s not _just_ that,” Mingyu tries to clarify. He takes a gulp of the drink, and chokes on the taste. Someone had dumped a shitload of cheap vodka into the punch and tried to cover it up with citrus—the concoction _burns._ He coughs it back into the cup and levels a watery glare at Minghao, who only laughs. 

“It’s not just that,” Mingyu repeats himself once he’s composed again. “It’s— you’ve seen him dance, right? I’ve never seen someone move like water before. And he’s just... Junhui-hyung.” Mingyu finishes like Junhui’s name is an explanation, and in a way, it is. 

Minghao, who was friends with Mingyu in junior year, nods. He had been there when Mingyu—21 years old and drunk enough he couldn’t feel his fingertips—had confessed that he wanted to kiss Junhui so badly it ached. 

He has been there for the aftermath too, when Mingyu spent a month alternating between scrolling through the pictures Junhui had tagged him in on Instagram and pretending he had never met Junhui before in his life. It wasn’t just the bisexual thing. It was the fact that the whole crisis centered on one of his friends; he had wanted to drop out of university and pretend they’d never met.

Minghao had kicked his ass when he tried to repress it all, and held his hand when Mingyu panicked about actually telling Junhui. If anyone has a right to comment on the whole thing, it’s him.

It looks like he’s holding back a comment now, eyes drinking in the light. Mingyu’s skin itches. “Well?”

Minghao shakes his head, pours another cup of the pink drink, and hands it to Mingyu. “This is our last year here. You won’t have any more chances.”

A protest dies on Mingyu’s tongue. Minghao is right. That doesn’t make it any easier to think about, though. He chances another look across the room to where Junhui is still dancing, a line of glitter down the side of his neck. 

He’s wearing ripped jeans and a worn shirt that exposes his collarbones, with none of the heavy stage makeup he had while performing. He looks nothing like the person he’d been onstage. Here, he’s almost approachable. _It’s almost as if you’re friends,_ a voice finishes in his head, sarcasm sharp enough to sting. It sounds suspiciously like Minghao.

Mingyu scowls at imaginary Minghao and downs half the glass in his hand, only sputtering a little. He hands it back to real life Minghao. “When I die, please remember to water my plants.”

“Absolutely not,” Minghao replies. “Survive this and water them yourself.”

He’s awful, and it makes Mingyu grin as he starts crossing the dance floor to where Junhui is. 

While he’s walking he tries to formulate the question in his mind. _Would you mind modeling for me? Yes, really. No, it’s not a pickup line. (Unless you want it to be?)_

The crowd of people parts before him—one of the few advantages of being as tall as he is. It makes it easy to step up to Junhui’s side and wave to him over the music. 

Junhui waves back with a grin, hip checking a couple of people out of his way in order to get to Mingyu’s side. He has to shout to be heard over the music, louder now that they’re near the speakers. “Mingyu! I didn’t think you’d make it.”

Mingyu doesn’t try to repress the reflexive smile that comes to his lips at Junhui’s presence. “How could I miss it when you’d be here?”

Junhui laughs, but doesn’t seem to take him too seriously, which Mingyu appreciates. His face is an open book, he knows. It makes him come on too strong a lot of the time, all that emotion spilling out with nowhere to go.

The song around them changes, and Junhui twirls effortlessly, looping his arms around Mingyu’s neck. He’s only a little shorter than Mingyu, and the reminder goes to his head, makes him want to push on Junhui’s shoulders, just to see if he’d budge. 

He doesn’t do that. Instead, he sets a hand at the small of Junhui’s back and does his best to keep up with the other man’s dancing. It feels incongruously like being in middle school, a constant six inches held between them. Nothing fills the space but Mingyu’s restrained desire.

Junhui continues dancing, seemingly content without saying anything else, but Mingyu came over with a purpose. “Can we go somewhere a little quieter?”

For some reason, this makes Junhui’s eyes go wide, his fingers curling around the nape of Mingyu’s neck. Mingyu can feel himself leaning in a little to the touch. “Sure!” Junhui yells back, pulling his arms away to take Mingyu’s wrist. 

His fingers are warm, grip strong. It’s just as easy to exit the crowd of people as it was to get in. Junhui tugs Mingyu into the hallway and looks up at him expectantly. He's still holding on to his wrist. The angle almost makes it look like he’s waiting for a kiss, and Mingyu has to swallow for a second before he’s able to speak. 

“Your showcase was spectacular.” It’s not what he meant to say at all, but the words are genuine. 

Junhui blinks, eyes wide. To Mingyu’s disappointment, he drops his wrist and takes a step back. There’s a flicker of something he can’t read on Junhui’s face when he replies, “Thank you, I’m glad you came!”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Mingyu replies, and pauses. “There’s something I wanted to ask you, actually. Not about the showcase, but about school.”

Junhui raises an eyebrow. “What is it?”

Mingyu takes a deep breath. “I need a model for my final project, and I was wondering _ifyouwouldmaybedoit_?” It’s a simple question, but his heart is racing, beating rabbit-quick beneath his skin. He swears he can feel his pulse in his palms.

Junhui pauses, looking at him. There’s a moment where Mingyu thinks he won’t say anything, and then he asks, “Why me?” And isn’t that the question. Mingyu has been asking himself the same thing.

In the end, he has no real answer. Only, “I’ve always wanted to photograph you, I’ve just never had the chance before.”

“Oh?” Junhui looks delighted, eye crinkling up at the corners. “I understand, I’m very handsome.”

Mingyu resists the urge to bury his face in his hands. It feels like talking to Minghao all over again. “No it’s not that.”

“I’m not handsome?” Junhui tilts his head. 

The line of his jaw catches the light, and Mingyu swallows, throat suddenly dry. “You’re stunning,” he replies. “It’s just ever since I saw you perform…”

When he doesn’t continue, Junhui steps closer. His eyes are lazy at the corners, and he moves like a large cat, intimidating and graceful all at once. “Saw me perform what?”

That’s something Mingyu _really_ doesn’t want to bring up. There are some things he hasn’t even told Minghao. “It’s not important. You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, but it wouldn’t be too much work, just a couple of afternoons. You’d be able to say no to any of the concepts, and I can cook for you afterwards?”

Junhui gives him a considering look. “Sure. Just text me the details. Now if you’ll excuse me,” he steps forward and past Mingyu, shooting him a glance, “I have some stress to be dancing off. You’re more than welcome to join me. Or not, it’s your choice.”

The way Junhui crooks fingers could launch a thousand ships, Mingyu thinks. He follows, back to the small dance floor. 

They’re there all night, dancing until Seungcheol’s playlist loops back around to its beginning. Neither one of them say anything else, but later, Mingyu will think of the way Junhui looked at him in that basement and think that maybe some things didn’t need words to be said aloud.

~

[Short Video, taken with an iPhone], NIGHT. Two college students are pressed shoulder to shoulder, both looking at the front-facing camera. Their faces are lit with string lights, a warm glow making their eyes sparkle. The audio is brief and poor quality, their voices nearly drowned out by the loud music coming from nearby. The one on the left is laughing. “This is a video, Mingyu. Come on, you’re the photography major.”

The one one the right is laughing as well. “Ok ok. Just give me a second.” He reaches up and stops the recording. Just before the video pauses, the expression of the one on the left is revealed for a moment. His eyes are soft, and he’s grinning at the one on the right. He looks unbearably fond.

~

[Email, Sent 2:43pm from: xiao_zhan@uni.edu to: kim_mingyu@uni.edu]

Mingyu, 

Thanks for sending me those copies of your revised proposal. They look good. The new direction you took is a strong one. Continue focusing on how you can connect your photography to your thesis. Come back Tuesday and I can take a look at those outfits you have prepped, as well as give you more feedback on composition. Sorry I couldn’t be in the office today, an emergency came up with one of the grad students. (I think you know him, Wang Yibo?) He’ll be fine, don’t worry, but my office hours are cancelled for today. I'll send out an email about that in an hour or so.

See the attached for my feedback.

Best,

Xiao Zhan, PhD

~

[Sent 10:46] _thanks again for agreeing to do this!!_

[Received 10:58] _no problem~ looking forward to working with you_

_we're still on for 2, right?_

[Sent 11:04] _we are! btw, im getting groceries, what did you want me to cook for you?_

[Received 11:06] _make me something you like to eat <3 _

[Sent 11:07] _i'll make one of my mom's recipes then_

_see you soon_

[Received 11:10] _see you soon (=∩_∩=)v_

~

When Junhui gets to the studio, Mingyu has most everything set up. The studio he has is one available for any art student to check out—a medium sized room with brick walls and a high ceiling. One wall is entirely covered in a dark cloth and he has pointed a series of subtle light fixtures pointed at it. The cloth extends across a meter of the floor, dark as a puddle of midnight.

Junhui announces his arrival with a “Knock knock!”, waiting for Mingyu's permission to enter the open door. Mingyu grins as he turns around. Waves him in. 

“Hyung! You’re here early.” 

Junhui tilts his head, shrugs. “Practice got out early. Is this the set?”

Mingyu turns back to the light he had been adjusting, aims it towards the center of the wall. He’ll have to move it later, but this will do for now. He gestures Junhui towards the back of the room. “Everything’s almost ready, I just wanted to discuss the concept with you a little before we started.”

“Sounds good,” Junhui says, setting his backpack down next to Mingyu’s. He stretches as he turns around, sweatshirt riding up to expose a sliver of skin. Mingyu tries very, very hard not to stare. “You mentioned something about silk?”

This was the part Mingyu hadn’t wanted to explain over text. He tilts his head towards a small table where his concept sketches laid out. “I have the preliminary concepts over there.” He trails off. “These are just the concepts. I have some stuff mocked up, but we’ll only do the ones you’re comfortable with and rework the rest.”

Junhui walks over to the table like he isn’t even _listening._ Mingyu carefully does not bury his face in his hands and instead sets up another light. The glare blinds.

The concepts had seemed so much more reasonable when he was alone in his apartment, sketching them out. Here in the warmly lit studio space, they seem like the worst things he’s ever conceived. It was mortifying enough to present them to Dr. Xiao. Asking Junhui to model them seems like an unnecessary layer of torment.

The sound of paper rustling makes Mingyu close his eyes. He knows what Junhui is seeing: fabric samples, lighting designs, and, of course, the sketches. A model, draped in silk, with nothing left to the imagination but his face, carefully blank. 

“So what’s the idea you’re going for?” Junhui’s voice is a little high, bright with nerves, or maybe confusion. Mingyu can’t really tell. “All I’m getting is… silk.”

Mingyu tamps down his embarrassment and says, in a near perfect quote of his project proposal, “I’m interested in deconstructing boundaries between what is and isn't publicly acceptable. One of the best ways I figured out how to do it was, well, formal attire.”

When he turns around, Junhui is holding one of the fabric samples, running fingers over black and red. His eyes are luminous in the studio’s lighting. “That sounds very academic. So let me get this straight. Are you saying I get to wear some of this?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ll photograph me.”

“Yes.”

“And I’ll be half naked?”

“Yes— _wait.”_ Junhui is laughing at him, sound like champagne bubbles. “You seriously don’t have to, hyung.”

“And what? Let you find some other beautiful boy to take my place?” Junhui shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”

 _I wouldn’t,_ Mingyu thinks. _No matter what you said._ Junhui with eyes that sparkled when he laughed, Junhui with a grin like crooked lightning, Junhui with a soft mouth and gentle hands, now that Mingyu had him in a studio, there’s no way he could let him leave without capturing a little of that glow. 

What he says though, is, “I’ve been working with Jisoo—you know, one of Seungcheol’s roommates?—to get this together. He sent me the first outfit yesterday if you want to try it on?”

“Absolutely,” Junhui returns. His silhouette catches the light briefly as he sets the paper back down. For a moment he looks embraced by summer. Mingyu’s breath catches. This must be what longing does, he thinks. Simmers down until the right moment, and then rises, all inevitability and bright, sweet ache. 

A garment bag is hanging on a hook near Mingyu’s backpack. He walks over and opens it gently, removing what—on first glance—looks like a suit. When he shakes it a little however, its folds become clear. The sleeves of the garment are sewn elegantly to a translucent body. The “pants” are very nearly a skirt, swathes of black silk rippling in the light, slits up to the thighs. A tie drapes over the shoulders, a sleek midnight. Jisoo had outdone himself.

When he turns it around, Junhui’s eyes go wide. His hand reaches out, like he can’t help himself. “This looks... expensive.”

Mingyu makes a so-so gesture with his free hand. “The less said about the materials, the better, but Jisoo is submitting this and the other ones, for his sewing practicals.” He makes an indignant face. “He keeps refusing me when I try to pay him for the work and time.”

Junhui is laughing at him, Mingyu is pretty sure. It’s covered up by his grin, but he can _tell._ It’s in the way his eyes crinkle up at the corners, all feline amusement. “Oh how terrible, your friends helping you with your final project.”

“Hyung!” Mingyu does _not_ pout. He doesn’t. “I’m going to pay him back. I haven't figured out how yet, but it's going to happen.”

Junhui doesn’t say anything else about it, but his eyebrows are gently skeptical. Mingyu ignores that and hands him the hanger the "suit" is on. “I can step out for a second while you try it on?”

A nod, and Mingyu walks to the door, shutting it softly behind him. He pulls out his phone as he waits, carefully not picturing what must be happening inside the studio, how Junhui would be pulling his sweatshirt off casually, skin exposing itself to light. 

The suit shouldn’t be too hard to get into, Mingyu hopes. When Junhui had agreed to model, he had sent his measurements to Jisoo, and asked him to adjust the garment slightly. Jisoo had raised an eyebrow and agreed, but the other two pieces would take longer to fix. Mingyu doesn’t mind. He has the studio for another two weekends, and the extra time will let him develop film between shoots. 

He browses instagram idly for a couple of minutes, likes Minghao’s latest ootd, and checks his email before he hears Junhui’s voice from inside. “Mingyu? Can you come help me?”

Phone in pocket, hand on doorknob. “Sure, I’m coming in.”

He opens the door like an apology, turning to shut it quietly. He’s not sure what he’s disturbing, but it feels like _something._ When he looks up again, the air disappears from his lungs. Junhui looks over his shoulder at him, one hand holding up the suit over his shoulders, the other trying to reach the buttons halfway up his back. It feels like being dunked under water.

Theoretically, Mingyu understands why the fastenings are placed there. Jisoo had shown him the sketches and explained how their location made the garment drape smoothly. In practice, Junhui’s back is a sleek line of muscle peeking out between the layers of translucent fabric, and Mingyu’s tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth.

Junhui’s eyelids dip for a second, and he nods towards the buttons, which sit like a line of pearls, bordering his exposed skin. “Can you help me with these? I got halfway up and my arms gave out.”

Mingyu nods, tries to say something, chokes. He clears his throat and tries again. “Sure, no problem.”

It takes five steps to cross the space between them, and five seconds staring at the buttons before Mingyu can make himself start. Slowly, he pulls the pieces of fabric together, fastening them as he goes.

The buttons are tiny things, the size of his smallest fingernail, and Mingyu curses Jisoo in his head as he fumbles one, fingers brushing against Junhui's back. His skin is just as warm as Mingyu thought it might be, like he had been standing in the sun. Junhui shivers, and Mingyu murmurs a quick apology, finishing the rest of them as fast as he can.

He taps Junhui on the shoulder twice. "You're good."

Junhui turns around and grins. “How do I look?” Mingyu has to pause for a moment to take in the full effect of his outfit. It’s almost exactly as he had planned it and at the same time, Junhui makes it _more_. 

“You look good.”

Junhui leans towards him. “Good? Is that it?”

“Stunning,” Mingyu corrects himself, almost involuntarily. 

The translucent material drapes over his shoulders, catching the eye and the light. He looks just two steps left of formal, and holds himself like he’s about to start dancing. 

Junhui’s grin shades towards smug. “Thank you.” Mingyu realizes abruptly that he had been baited into that reaction. Indignation digs a soft wrinkle between his eyebrows before he lets it smooth away. Just as easy to soothe as to startle. Junhui’s grin warms, brighter now that Mingyu had tipped his hand.

He turns to pick up his camera, swinging the strap over his neck and turning around to face Junhui. “Ready?”

Junhui nods. “How do you want me?”

It’s an innocuous comment, Mingyu still pauses for the briefest heartbeat, imagining the words in a different context. By some force of will he manages to keep his expression steady and points towards the fabric-draped wall. “Over there. No need to pose, I’m just going to get some light readings.”

Junhui walks over to the area Mingyu had prepped and squints his eyes at the light. When he takes a step back, shadows fall on his face. For a second, Mingyu forgets what he said about taking readings. “Wait! Pause there.”

He pulls out his phone and sets the focus to Junhui’s face. Junhui is laughing at him, but it’s fine, the picture comes out. Most of Mingyu’s friends are used to him doing something similar, anyway. Between him and Minghao, none of them are free from spontaneous photoshoots. Three clicks and he’s done. Mingyu puts his phone away and pulls out his light meter. 

His camera has one installed in its viewfinder, but Mingyu has always liked doing this part separately. It’s part of the way his father taught him. 

_Know the terrain. Frame the photograph in your head before shooting. Always understand where the light is coming from._

The readings get applied to his understanding of the shot, Junhui standing patiently still. When Mingyu finishes, he shoots him a thumbs up. 

“We’re good, ready to start?”

Junhui grins. “Yeah, do you want me to pose?”

Mingyu thinks for a second. “Just do what comes naturally. I’ll tell you if you need to change.”

Maybe Junhui is a little nervous too, because he drapes a hand dramatically over his heart and tilts his head up. He looks two second away from swooning; Mingyu laughs even as he looks through the viewfinder. 

Through the lens, it’s easy to see the way Junhui holds himself—like a dancer, like a willow tree. The framing gives him a little distance, too. Junhui is still Junhui, but Mingyu can see the possibilities of a photograph in him now, the borders of a picture coming together just like…

That.

Mingyu snaps the photo, listening to the film roll. He doesn’t have that many shots, so he needs to choose them carefully.

“Can you turn a little... yes exactly like that. Look like you want something.” Mingyu pauses for a second and thinks. “Imagine someone you desire, imagine they’re behind the camera lens.”

Junhui’s eyes fall shut for a second, and when he opens them, Mingyu’s blood goes hot. Junhui is looking at the camera lens like he’s going to devour it, like he’s gone a week without water and has just been offered a drink. With a camera in hand, it’s marginally easier to ignore the way Mingyu wants that gaze to be for himself, wants to grab Junhui’s hand and ask him who he’s imagining. He takes a deep breath and another photograph instead.

He goes through most of his roll of film like that, focus making his thoughts go liquid, eyes trained on the man in front of him. 

When he finally pulls back, blinking, he’s not sure how much time has passed. Junhui’s eyes are heavy on him, and Mingyu has to take a second to readjust and process the world through his body again, instead of a camera lens. “I think I’ve got it all.” 

“Great!” Junhui’s shoulders relax the tiniest fraction, bringing him from dancer-poised to something more casual. 

Mingyu checks his camera automatically, and notes he still has one shot left on the roll. “Wait one more second.”

Junhui breathes in like he’s about to pose again, and Mingyu waves a hand at him. “No, we’re good on my project, how do you feel about a portrait?”

The way Junhui’s head tilts reminds Mingyu of a bird. “What do you mean?”

“Like a headshot? But more fun. I can send it to you later.”

Junhui smiles at him, spins around so that he’s looking over his shoulder. “Like this?”

Mingyu smiles back, raises his camera. 

_Click._

~

After the shoot, they head to Mingyu’s apartment. Inside is neater than normal; he had cleaned that morning in preparation of Junhui coming over. 

Junhui follows him through the doorway easily. It’s not his first time here, and Mingyu knows it won’t be his last either. He’s back in casual clothes, the garment from earlier tucked away, ready to be sent back to Jisoo. 

When Mingyu sets his backpack down on the couch, Junhui does the same. With a happy sigh he flops over the top of it, staring at Mingyu from over his crossed arms. “So, chef. What are you making for me today?”

Mingyu shakes his head. “It’s a surprise.” He walks into the kitchen and starts pulling out the things he’ll need. It's a recipe familiar as his mother’s hands around the kitchen knives, one that has her voice in every step. It’s like being home again for a second, when he recalls it, familiarity settling over him like a favorite t-shirt, worn soft from countless rounds in the wash.

He can feel some of that comfort in his voice when he calls over his shoulder, “There are snacks in the drawer over there if you want. Otherwise dinner will be ready in a few.”

Junhui hums, and Mingyu can hear him rustle around a little. This too, is familiar. Junhui has been over at the apartment enough that he has a favorite place to sit, enough that he knows where the overnight blankets for the couch are without asking. Sometimes Mingyu thinks that Junhui could navigate the place blindfolded, just as well as Mingyu does. 

He knows the apartment the way that Mingyu did only after living in it for a year. Mingyu knows every piece of furniture because he has tripped over them all, walking to the bathroom at 3am. Familiarity can feel like acquiring bruises sometimes. Something unexpected rising in the darkness. A moment of pain before knowledge settles in.

He pulls out a knife and gets to cooking. Onion gets sliced and thrown into a pan, along with a broth he had made earlier this morning, pork, kimchi, brine, gochugaru, gochujang, and sesame oil. 

Junhui tries to wander into the kitchen a couple of times, a cat’s curiosity when denied, but Mingyu waves him away each time. “Go relax! I’m not done yet.”

It’s probably not that hard to guess what he’s making, but Junhui smiles like it’s still a surprise. He hangs around in the doorway of the kitchen instead, amusement playing around the corners of his eyes. “How did the pictures turn out?”

Mingyu shakes his head. “It’s film, I won’t know until I develop it.” He puts a lid on his pot and leaves it to simmer. The kitchen is starting to smell like spices, warm and comforting. It smells like home. When he looks over to where Junhui is leaning against the doorframe, he too seems to be relaxing. 

Junhui tilts his head. “But how do you think they turned out? You took them, you have a guess, right?”

Working with film can be tricky. When Mingyu first tried to develop a roll of film, he completely botched the chemical ratios, and ended with not only a chemical burn over his palm from dropping the reel but also a completely ruined roll. Now he knows better, wears gloves and knows his chemicals by heart, but he can’t forget that first roll of film, completely ruined by developer, so bright it blinded.

The world, drowned in light.

Sometimes he thinks he should be able to guess how his photographs will turn out, but it escapes him every time. Some things are just like that, uncertain to the very end. His palm itches. He shakes his head. “You’ll have to wait until they’re all done, but I can take you to the final exhibition if you’d like.”

Junhui takes a step into the kitchen despite Mingyu’s warning look. “I would love that. Will you have another outfit for me next week?”

Mingyu takes a second to think about the next garment Jisoo sent him pictures of. All of the attendant accessories are neatly packed away in his room. He firmly puts that thought aside. He wants to be able to look Junhui in the eyes for the rest of this meal. “Yeah, I’ll have something for you. Jisoo is adjusting it now, it should be ready by next Saturday.”

“Do I get to know what this one looks like?”

“Uh—” Mingyu hesitates.

Junhui walks all the way into the room, loops his chin over Mingyu’s shoulder. “You like surprises, huh.”

Mingyu hadn’t thought of it like that. It isn’t that he likes keeping secrets from Junhui. It’s just that every time Junhui gets closer, he’s struck by the urge to give him the keys to, well, everything. Surprises go hand in hand with self preservation at this point. He has to keep something to himself or else Junhui will see it all laid out like a hand of cards. 

He sighs, and doesn’t kick Junhui out of the kitchen, or off his shoulder. “I’m making kimchi jjigae.”

Mingyu has always been terrible at poker.

~

[Photograph, taken with a film camera] AFTERNOON. A man, slightly blurred by motion, looks over his shoulder, eyes crinkled up at the corners. Dark fabric is draped over a wall behind him, and he’s lit from above by studio lights. He’s wearing something that resembles a suit in name only, fabric sheer over his back. A handwritten note on the other side of the photograph reads, _Here’s your portrait Junhui-hyung! You look good <3 -Mingyu _

~

Perhaps it would be better to start this story from the beginning, but Mingyu has never been good at untangling the knot of his history. 

Where is the beginning? 

When Junhui had first smiled at him, eyes alight with laughter?

When Mingyu had first looked up from his camera to see Junhui in mid stretch, body folded into long lines of muscle?

When he realized that of all the people he knew, there was only one he always wanted to photograph? 

What he has is a darkroom kind of love, the kind of thing that develops like a chemical reaction. As a photographer, Mingyu has learned not to trust his eyes. Anything can change in the light. 

When was it that he had realized he wanted to press Junhui against a wall? That he wanted to run his hands down Junhui's sides until he could recognize him blind? 

Here: a confession of skin and bone. Here: how he would tell Junhui truths he did not dare expose to light.

Every moment is a snapshot, a photograph stored in the album of Mingyu’s heart. Every one of them is a step down a road that ends in a place that will _hurt._ Junhui is kind, Mingyu knows. He will try to let him down easy. That will only make it worse, in the end. 

Better to keep it in a photograph. Better to have loved and never lost.

~

[Sent 2:04] [link to a video of a cat]

[Sent 3:31] _hey hyung, i’m finishing up stuff for our next shoot, what shoe size do you wear?_

[Received 4:22] _kitty (Ｔ▽Ｔ)_

_sorry, i was in rehearsal_

_i wear a ten!_

~

The art building is located at the very east edge of campus. It's home to studios and classrooms alike and is ridiculously far from the student center. Mingyu considers its placement a curse from the architects of the university, a kind of last ‘fuck you’ to anyone considering a degree in a non-STEM field. It is impossible to get to, and impossible to leave once entered. Mingyu has accidentally spent entire days in its halls or locked away in the darkroom, only exiting once the rumbling of his stomach startled the nearby freshmen. 

He’s not sure how long he’s been in the darkroom today, only that exiting it makes his eyes smart. Everything is too bright. His skin tenses all over, like being hit with cold water.

When he rubs his eyes to clear them, someone is there waiting for him. 

Junhui is standing in the hallway, a cup of coffee and a scone in hand. He looks like he’s been waiting for a while, idly scrolling on his phone. He looks up when Mingyu steps out. “Mingyu! How are you doing?”

Mingyu squints. “Are you real?” He’s had dreams like this before, though they don’t normally feature him so tired he can’t see straight. 

Junhui laughs, and steps close. Without quite meaning to, Mingyu sways forward. Again, the urge to push on the other man rises. Junhui has a dancer’s strength, tucked away in lithe planes of muscle. Mingyu has seen him toss people in the air with the same amount of effort most people use to pick up a bag of groceries. If Mingyu leaned his head on Junhui’s shoulder, could he hold both of them up for a while?

“I’m real, Mingyu.” Junhui hands him the coffee and scone, and Mingyu barely stops himself from downing them in under a minute. As it is, he plows his way through the scone and half the coffee before he looks back up.

“ _Thank you_ , I needed that.” He pauses. “Uh. I didn’t think to ask, but what are you doing here?”

Junhui loops his arm around Mingyu’s and tugs. Mingyu stumbles after him and Junhui explains. “I’m kidnapping you.”

“You’re doing what?” Maybe Mingyu is more tired than he thought. 

Junhui pats his shoulder with his free hand like he’s reassuring a dog. Mingyu resents, just a little, the fact that he settles under the touch. “I’m kidnapping you. No one has seen you in two days, and Minghao says the only reason he knew you came back to the apartment yesterday was because your breakfast disappeared from the fridge.”

Betrayed by his own roommate. “You’re talking about me behind my back?”

Junhui tugs him around a corner and towards the exit. Sunlight hits his face, limning everything in gold. “Mingyu.” An unexpectedly serious look is leveled in his direction. “We’re worried about you, you know? You look like you haven’t eaten anything all day.”

Had he? Mingyu tries to consider the amount of time he was in the darkroom and finds he can’t remember if food had featured in his day since last morning. The fleeting memory of a banana rises. Fades.

“Oh.” Mingyu is quiet for a few seconds after that, and Junhui tugs him outside before letting him go. 

When Mingyu looks up, he’s smiling, and doesn’t mention it again. It’s circumspect in a way that Mingyu appreciates. “I’ve got rehearsal in twenty, you can come sit in on it and take photos. Then we’re going back to my apartment.”

“Ok hyung.” Mingyu’s head is a little spaced out, and he turns his backpack around to grab the granola bars he keeps in there exactly for times like these. “Lead the way.”

~

That evening, Junhui stir frys him vegetables and makes a gingery soup strong enough that Mingyu’s eyes water. They do homework on the cracked linoleum of Junhui’s apartment kitchen, and Junhui peels little oranges for them both, handing segments of fruit across the scant inches between their knees.

Mingyu sleeps on the couch and wakes with the rising sun, light coming through the windows to rest across his brow. When he breathes in, he can still smell citrus.

~

[Photograph, taken with an iPhone] LATE EVENING. A close up of a hand, extended. The shot cuts off at mid-forearm, framed around a peeled orange, offered palm up. The lighting is dim, comfortable. The hand is dry, skin cracking in places, but in the photo it is clear. Steady.

~

[Sent 11:52] _hey hyung, i talked to the building supervisor, and they said our space got double booked accidentally, would 3 work for you instead of 2?_

[Sent 12:05] _if it doesn’t it’s cool! they just need to know soon-ish_

[Sent 12:41] _wonwoo-hyung let me know you had a headache, is it ok if i come over?_

[Received 12:52] _sorry, sure i’m not veru good comoany right now >< _

_door’s ooen_

~

When Mingyu gets to Junhui’s apartment, a small off-campus place, he finds the blinds closed. As Junhui had said, the door opens under his cautious hand, and Mingyu lets himself in, toeing his shoes off in the doorway. 

The lights inside are off, everything faded grey. Mingyu picks out Junhui’s shape on the couch, one arm tossed over his eyes. His dance bag waits by his feet, as if he had planned on leaving soon. 

Mingyu tries to step lightly, but Junhui stirs within seconds of his arrival. His voice is thin, like it’s been stretched out to dry. “Sorry I had to cancel on you Mingyu.” The name sounds bare in his mouth. 

“Don’t worry.” Mingyu keeps his own voice low. He’s only seen Junhui like this a couple of times, but he knows what to do. Or rather, what not to do. No loud noises, no bright lights. “Have you taken anything yet?”

“No,” comes Junhui’s faint response. 

Mingyu nods though Junhui won’t see it. “Here, let me.” He sets down his own bag next to Junhui’s, and pads into the kitchen. He pours a glass of water and comes back, puts it on the table next to Junhui’s head, and goes looking for painkillers. 

Normally Wonwoo would be here to do this, but he’s in class right now, and had entrusted the task to Mingyu. The thought is just a little overwhelming when he thinks of it too long.

Roommates are unavoidably close. There is an intimacy that comes from living in overlapping spaces, a kind of thing that opens like night-blooming flowers, unbidden and delicate. Wonwoo had always had a special kind of care for Junhui anyway, open palms, loose shoulders. That Mingyu was Wonwoo's first choice to care for Junhui seems, in this moment, monumental.

In the bathroom, Mingyu navigates the cabinet shelves without turning the light on, sorting through bottles by touch. Eventually his fingers hit the one Junhui keeps in the back for headaches. He pulls it out, checks the label in the light filtering through from outside and shakes out two pills. 

When he returns to the living room, Junhui is curled into a tiny ball, back strung tight. The glass of water is half gone.

Mingyu kneels down by his side, places the medicine on the table. "Junhui-hyung?" No answer. "Junhui?"

Junhui turns to him, one hand pressed over his left eye. His other one is squinted despite the low light. He makes a vaguely affirmative noise and winces.

"Here," Mingyu sits back on his toes and points to the painkillers. "I got these for you. "Have you called in to the studio yet?"

Junhui keeps one hand to his left eye even as he scoops up the medicine one handed. He downs the it and the rest of the glass of water before answering. "Not yet. I was going to after texting you but…"

Mingyu nods, can't quite help himself from reaching out, running a thumb over Junhui's right temple and brushing his hair behind his ear. "I'll call them, go lie down." 

No sound comes from his lips, but Mingyu can still see Junhui’s throat tense, like he’s bracing himself. Another moment and he gets upright, feet tangling around themselves for a moment before finding a rhythm. 

Away he goes into the bedroom, and Mingyu watches him for a second. He wishes he could do more than he is, wishes that Junhui’s pain was something he could pull out and fight. Vanquish, with sword and shield. It doesn’t work like that, and so Mingyu pulls out his phone to call Junhui’s dance studio. 

Lee Chan, one of the new hires, picks up on the third ring, so he doesn’t have to spend long on the phone explaining. Chan is a sweet kid who promises to cover Junhui’s class. Mingyu tells him he owes him a favor before he ends the phone call.

Careful feet take him into the kitchen, where he wets a towel, and then to the bedroom, where he sits down by Junhui’s hipbone. The faintest suggestion of light plays over the bed, but Junhui himself remains in shadow. Mingyu tries to construct in his mind what the scene might look like, but the picture deserts him. Without illumination, there is no photograph to frame in his head, no easy way to separate out what he is and isn’t allowed to see, to touch.

He places the towel over Junhui’s brow, and takes his hand, noting the way that Junhui’s breath stutters.

Here in the darkness, Junhui’s hand seems to be the truth of the matter. A hand made for holding. Reach out and hold on. Hold on and don’t let go. 

~

They reschedule the second shoot fairly easily, Mingyu begging Baekhyun, the building monitor, to open the studio after hours. Mingyu wishes the extra time made him less nervous about Junhui’s reaction to the upcoming outfit, but if anything, it’s only made the anticipation worse. There’s no doubt that this garment is the most... revealing of all three. The third is arguably just as bad, but at least Junhui will be in something that doesn't raise Mingyu's blood pressure. 

Junhui meets him in the studio, wearing a pair of sweatpants and a shirt with innumerable cats on the back. Mingyu tries not to find it incredibly charming as he preps the backdrop. It’s a pale cream today, borrowed from one of his studiomates. Soon enough, it's set up, and all he has left is Junhui.

Jisoo had sent the final pictures of this outfit to him with three emojis attached: a blushing face, a dancing girl, and an eggplant. Mingyu tries hard not to think about any of them as he opens up the garment bag, revealing _red._

The entire thing is a vivid crimson, the color of spider lilies. Mingyu runs a wondering finger down one of its sides, his skin catching on the delicate fabric. He’s seen it before, but it’s still stunning. The garment resembles a dress in the same way that the last garment resembled a suit. A series of red bands hang loose around the shoulders from where they’ll crisscross down Junhui’s arms. There’s no back. The front is a sleek wave of fabric falling to the floor, held up by more bands around the neck. The skirt hangs simply, but Mingyu knows that once it’s on Junhui, it’ll take a life of its own, swirling in an invisible wind.

He hands the whole thing to Junhui and takes a step back. “What do you think of this?”

Junhui takes the garment bag, a smile dancing around the corners of his lips. Amusement like a trick of the light. “Great! Are you going to help me with this one too?”

A memory briefly rises: Junhui’s skin warm beneath his fingers as he buttoned the suit. He can’t quite stop his cheeks from flushing, takes another step back. “Only if you need it. I’ll be outside?” Any amount of his normal confidence abandons him and he walks hastily towards the door, waving behind him.

He thinks he hears Junhui laughing as the door shuts behind him. Mingyu walks a couple of steps away and resists the urge to close his eyes.

It sometimes feels like there’s a disconnect between the Junhui here under the studio lights, and the Junhui everywhere else. Mingyu can’t quite put it down to anything in particular. Junhui is Junhui, but sometimes Mingyu looks at him and the light will shift, and he won't be sure if he's seen anything for certain. For a moment in there, it had seemed like Junhui _wanted_ Mingyu to stay.

He is a photographer. _Always understand where the light is coming from._

It’s supposed to be advice about exposure values and composition. And yet Mingyu can’t stop thinking of it when he looks at Junhui. What’s real, and what’s Mingyu's imagination only seeing what he wants to?

It seems like just seconds before Mingyu hears Junhui call from inside. “Mingyu? I think I’m stuck.”

For one moment, Mingyu lets himself close his eyes. Takes a breath. Tries to brace himself. When he opens the door, he wishes he took longer than he did.

If he had thought the sight he walked in on last time was like being doused in ice water, this one is more like being set on fire. Mingyu can feel his higher thought processes jump ship instead of taking in what’s before him.

From the looks of it, Junhui has stepped into the dress just fine, but when it came to getting into the arm bands, he had encountered difficulties. He resembles a cat who had accidentally gotten stuck in ribbon, both arms twisted above his head at an unlikely angle. It emphasizes the strong lines of his shoulders, the graceful arch of his neck. While Mingyu tries to say something, Junhui tilts his head sheepishly. 

“Help?”

“How did you even…” Mingyu trails off, stepping close enough to touch. 

Junhui shakes his head. “I really don’t know? I thought I had figured out the way it all worked together but, well.”

“Yeah,” Mingyu agrees, and hopes that his voice doesn’t come out too strangled. “I see what you mean. Can you bend over a bit? I think I can get the bands back where they’re supposed to be.”

Junhui nods and tilts himself until his arms are closer to eye level. “Sure. You know, this reminds me of the time I went bug hunting as a kid.” Mingyu considers the problem for a second before he slips a finger under one of the top bands, shimmying the whole thing up Junhui’s arms. He’s laughing, just a bit, amusement flavored with a tinge of hysteria. Junhui is warm and pliant beneath his hands, laughing along with him; Mingyu wants to sit down, maybe for a week. Maybe for a month.

“What part of this is like bug catching?” One more tug and the whole mess of bands comes free into Mingyu’s hands. Only Junhui’s quick reflexes keep the entire dress from falling down around his hips. 

“Hmm.” Junhui seems entirely unconcerned about the state of his dress while he contemplates Mingyu’s question. He ducks his head when Mingyu finds him the correct place to stick his head through. “I guess it’s because I got caught in my own net a lot.”

“You what?” Mingyu lines up the bands and lets Junhui slip his arms through first one side and then the other. He tries very hard not to consider how close they are, or the way that Junhui looks at him through his eyelashes. He’s not sure what Junhui's expression means.

Junhui straightens up all the way and stretches out his arms, making the bands of red fabric flex. Mingyu swallows, eyeing the way that Junhui’s skin looks against the red.

“It was one of those really long nets, you see,” Junhui continues to explain, adjusting the dress to lay more comfortably. “So it tangled around your arms if you swung it too hard.” 

Mingyu tries to picture it: a much younger Junhui swinging a net around, trying to catch bugs by force of enthusiasm alone. The image is endearing. It makes him smile even as he swings his camera back over his neck. Ducking towards his backpack, he pulls out a bag that was sitting near his backpack. “One more thing.”

“Oh?” Junhui always looks so pleased when people get him things. He always looks surprised by gifts, the kind of person who invites presents through his sheer joy at receiving them. Mingyu wants to give him things all the time, wants to promise him the sun, the stars and everything bright and beautiful between. Like many other thoughts Mingyu has around Junhui, this is unfortunately impossible. He settles for handing the box over instead, waiting with bated breath for Junhui to open it. 

“They’re not necessary, but I just thought…”

“Ooooh.” Junhui whistle is appreciative, flavored with something a little darker, almost smokey. When Mingyu looks up, he’s got the whole box open. Dangling from two fingers is a pair of high heels, nearly the same red as the dress. They’re an inch high at least, and strappy as hell. Mingyu had gotten a recommendation from Hoseok, another grad student, for a brand that would last, and picked up a few extra late night shifts this month to cover the cost. Seeing them in Junhui’s hands makes the whole fuss around getting them worth it. “These are _nice._ ”

Mingyu takes a second to be pleased, satisfaction briefly eclipsing his panic at potentially seeing Junhui wearing them. “Thanks, I didn’t know how to round out the outfit until I saw these. I wasn’t originally going to get them but you were ok with the suit, so I figured I’d give you the option.”

“Another one of your surprises, huh?” Junhui asks, lifting the heels demonstratively. He steps into them easily, one foot after the other. Mingyu adds “the comfort with which Junhui wears heels” to the list of things he is Really Not Thinking About Right Now, and walks over. 

“Yeah, I suppose you could say so.” With Junhui wearing heels, they stand eye to eye, and Mingyu taps shoulder, only a tad stiff. “Ready?”

Junhui nods and turns around, skirt flaring like a flower in bloom. “Of course!”

His light meter is in hand, and Mingyu takes a deep breath, paring everything down to its essentials. Junhui is in front of him. Light is streaming down from above.

Mingyu takes his readings, and frames a photograph in his head.

_Click._

~

The next week, Mingyu makes sure not to spend too long in the darkroom. He has other projects he’s working on in there, but he puts them aside for now. Minghao raises a wry eyebrow when he comes home the next day, looking at the sky outside their apartment. “Coming back before the sun set? I thought the art building swallowed you whole.”

Mingyu makes a face at him, setting down groceries on the countertop. “Sorry, you should have said something last week.” _Instead of sending Junhui,_ goes the unspoken implication.

Minghao gets up and wanders over, amusement brightening his features. “Maybe next time. What are you making?”

A pack of dumpling wrappers gets tossed on the counter along with some pork that had been on sale. When Minghao goes to pick it up, Mingyu throws a bundle of scallions at his forehead. “Guess.”

“Dumplings?” Minghao’s voice is hopeful.

“Yeah,” Mingyu agrees, fond. “Dumplings.”

They fold them together in the quiet evening light, listening to the jazz Minghao puts on. Minghao tells him about his attempts at asking Seokmin out (all of which have been interrupted in some way or another) and Mingyu tells him about his week. As they wait for the dumplings to steam, they do the dishes together, water and suds washing over their hands. Afterwards, Mingyu shows him some of the developed photographs from his and Junhui's first shoot, taken from out of the darkroom and into the light. 

When Minghao looks at them, his eyes are thoughtful. “You’ve got a good eye, Mingyu.” 

Mingyu almost laughs. “Thanks?”

“No, I mean it.” Minghao taps his finger on the side of the photograph, careful not to touch the image itself, and looks up at him. “Your final project is going to be stunning. I can’t wait to see it.” 

“Thank you.” Mingyu smiles for real this time, nearly careless with it. “I should be done in two weeks or so, and then all that’s left is the write up.”

“And showing Junhui?” Minghao’s voice is so casual Mingyu might have almost missed the teasing, if it wasn’t for the years they’ve spent living together. As it is, Mingyu makes sure to put his photographs safely down before he jumps, hands ruffling through Minghao’s hair. 

"Not that, thank you," he says.

Minghao squawks, but Mingyu is already running, hand on the steamer basket. “The dumplings are done!” 

“Kim Mingyu,” Minghao’s voice is serious. He’s looking at Mingyu from underneath a messy fringe, one unruly cowlick standing nearly straight up. “My revenge will be a dish served cold. You had best prepare yourself.”

Mingyu just grins, and opens the basket. Steam wafts out, briefly obscuring his sight lines. He has no doubt Minghao is serious. Equally as surely, he’s not worried. They only rarely step on each other's sore spots nowadays, a far cry from their first year living together, in which Mingyu had seriously considered switching roommates two times in the year. Now, Minghao’s revenge is a promising thing, familiar enough to make him smile. “You can try, Hao.”

He takes the food out of the steamer basket. “Dumpling?”

Minghao narrows his eyes, but he’s smiling too. “Yes, thank you.”

~

The week passes like a dream come and gone too soon. It’s something about his senior year, Mingyu’s found. The closer to graduation he gets, the more time blurs, like he’s passing through water, or smoke. All too soon, he’s texting Junhui about their final shoot. The pictures from the last two are nearly all developed. It makes him equal parts excited and nervous. 

It’s familiar by now, planning to meet up with Junhui. Sometimes it seems almost as if the person he sees through the camera lens is the same person who texts him cat pictures at 2am.

[Sent 5:31] _hey hyung, how do you feel about makeup?_

[Received 5:46] _i like it! are you planning something for the next shoot?_

[Sent 5:48] _if you’re cool with it! Seungcheol-hyung has been helping me practice this look, i think it’ll turn out good_

[Received 5:49] _you better make me look pretty (♡⸃ ◡ ⸂♡)_

[Sent 5:51] _you don’t need my help with that, hyung_

~

The evening before the final shoot, Mingyu takes some more of his developed prints back to the apartment. 

Minghao finds him a couple hours later, six pages into his project’s required essay, pictures laid out on the living room table. When he looks up, Minghao is standing with a bag of takeout, a small smile on his lips. “Come on, it’s dinner time.”

Mingyu stands and cracks his back. Stretches. One by one his muscles release their tension, and he sighs, shaking his head. “Thanks for grabbing food.”

“It was my turn anyway,” Minghao says. He looks at Mingyu for permission, his free hand hovering over one of the photos. Mingyu nods and he picks it up.

That particular one is of Junhui. Actually, all of the photos laid out are of Junhui. The photograph Minghao is holding though, is one of Junhui looking up at the camera from the second shoot. Mingyu had deliberately overexposed the shot, leaving Junhui’s body devoured by light. 

“Nice,” Minghao says admiringly. He sets it down and looks at the rest of Mingyu’s little collection. “These are turning out really well.”

Mingyu grins and heads towards the kitchen. “Thanks! I’m excited to see your project too.”

“Don’t remind me,” Minghao says. “You’ll see it in a little more than a month now, anyway.”

“Can’t hurt to ask,” Mingyu shoots back. He watches as Minghao plates up the takeout he had gotten, and turns to the fridge to get out some kimchi to go along with it. He pours water too, and goes back to the living room to clear away his photos. 

Minghao comes back just as he’s finishing up. He’s balancing the water and plates in his arms like a disaster waiting to happen. All of it gets laid out on the table, and Minghao flops onto the couch. They don’t have room for a dining table in the apartment, so the table near the couch ends up making do most of the time. It’s comfortable at the very least. 

Mingyu moves his textbooks to the side and picks up his chopsticks, digging in. Minghao moves to do the same when his phone buzzes. He pulls it out and stares for a second, tapping out an answer. When he looks up again, Mingyu quirks an eyebrow.

“Seokmin,” Minghao says in response. For a second, the landscape of his face is awash with summer rain. “We’re meeting up tomorrow to get coffee.” 

Mingyu smiles at him and takes a bite of his food. “I’m glad to hear it. I hope it goes well?”

“I think it will.” Minghao puts his phone away entirely and ducks his head for a second. When he looks back up, his shoulders are loose and easy. “I have a good feeling about this one.”

All at once, Mingyu is struck by how… certain Minghao looks. Mingyu has been by his side through a whole host of unfortunate exes, including one that Minghao even brought home, but never before has Minghao looked like this—quietly assured, and still hopeful. It makes him happy for him, and almost jealous.

Maybe Minghao sees that, because he sets down his chopsticks. “How are things going with Junhui?”

“Don’t ask me,” Mingyu says. “I don’t know.” He looks at his photographs in their little pile. Junhui looks out of each one of them, a silken focus trained on the viewer. 

Minghao looks at them too and raises an eyebrow. “He looks at you like that and you still haven’t done anything?”

“He's just posing, right? It feels like I’m imagining things.”

Minghao takes a deep breath and hits Mingyu’s shoulder, gently. “I’m going to tell you something. Junhui might not show it, but it’s not like he has everything figured out either. You’ve known each other for years, but neither one of you are mind readers. If you want something to change, you have to change it.”

Mingyu resists the urge to say _is that what you were doing with Seokmin for three months._ He’s not that much of an asshole. Instead he looks up at the ceiling light, thinks about exposure values—how much can be obscured by the spark of a flash.

Junhui smiles bright as the sun. Bright enough to blind. Too much light is just as bad as too little, and Mingyu is a photographer. He knows better than to trust he can see clearly.

~

[Photograph, taken with an iPhone] MORNING. A snapshot of the sunrise. The photograph is taken from the top of a tall building overlooking a college campus. Flowering trees are clustered between its walkways, lending shades of white and pink to the scene. It is the beginning of a new day.

~

Mingyu arrives at the dance studio near 1:45, just in time to catch the end of Junhui’s rehearsal. He had gotten the photography studio set up early, and instead of sitting around, had decided to surprise Junhui. A short trip to the local coffee shop, and now he's here.

The front desk waves him in with a smile, familiar with Mingyu after years of seeing him pass by, and Mingyu smiles back. There’s a small area for visitors inside, and so Mingyu settles there, waving at the people in the building he recognizes. Sunmi waves back, as does Soonyoung, running between classes. While he waits, Mingyu scrolls through instagram, absently liking a few posts. When the door opens, he looks up and puts his phone away.

The class gets out in a flurry of dancers, all chattering a mile a minute. Junhui looks up from a knot of them and grins, heading in Mingyu’s direction. “Mingyu! What are you doing here?” Behind him, the rest of the company watches them, eyeing Mingyu like he’s a particularly interesting new toy. Mingyu has known most of them for years; he’s not exactly sure what’s so interesting now.

Instead of thinking about it, he turns to Junhui. “I got you coffee.” He hands over one of the cups. Junhui’s order is vanilla, sweet, and comes with an extra layer of whipped cream on top. Mingyu had noted it the first time they got coffee together in sophomore year, and never forgotten. 

Junhui takes it with an appreciative hum. “Thank you! Is there a special occasion?”

“I can’t just want to surprise you?” Mingyu stands up, grabbing his own coffee and backpack. 

“You can,” Junhui says. He grins wider. “I’ll be expecting you next time, though.” He waves at the collected dancers behind him, collecting a few laughs. 

“Give us an update!” one of them calls, to a fit of giggles.

Junhui turns away and takes Mingyu’s arm. Tugs. “Come one come on, let’s go.”

There’s a hint of red making its way up Junhui’s neck, something Mingyu wants to put his fingertips to and see how far down it goes. He doesn’t do that, following along with Junhui’s hands pulling him into the open air. 

“What was that about?” he asks, when they're a minute out from the dance studio, and the crisp air has given another flush to Junhui’s cheeks. 

“Nothing,” Junhui waves it off, tucking his arm through Mingyu’s more securely. “You know them, they like to make jokes.”

“What do you mean?” Mingyu tries to keep his eyes on where he’s going, but it’s hard with Junhui walking right beside him. A bit of hair still stuck to his forehead from practice; Mingyu wants to tuck it back into place.

Junhui shoots him a glance, lips pressing briefly together. “They think you want to date me.”

Mingyu trips. 

It’s pure luck that his coffee doesn’t go flying. Junhui uses his leverage on Mingyu’s arm to keep them both upright for the moment it takes Mingyu to find his feet. “They what?”

The pinched lips return for a moment, and Junhui looks away. Mingyu hadn’t noticed how relaxed he had been until he suddenly isn’t. “They think you want to date me. I know you’re straight, just igno—”

“I’m what?” Mingyu feels a little bit like a broken record, mind spinning in three directions at once. “You think I’m what?”

“Straight,” Junhui parrots back, but it’s less sure this time. He looks at Mingyu questioningly. “As in, only likes women?”

Mingyu feels like he’s going to start laughing and never stop. It might be just a bit hysterical. “I don’t know how to tell you this hyung, but I like dick.” He had thought he was obvious, the way he looked at Junhui. The incredulity swimming around his chest is strong enough that Mingyu doesn’t even look around to see if anyone hears him say it. 

Junhui still hasn’t let go of his arm, and Mingyu feels it when his hand spasms, grip briefly like an iron band. All he says in the end though is, “Oh. Sorry for assuming.”

“I only figured it out last year,” Mingyu says. He does not say _and I didn’t tell you because of my very obvious crush._ The ground beneath his feet is steady, but he feels like it _should_ be shaking. Then he continues, mouth entirely disconnected from his sense of self preservation, “For the record, I would love to date you. You’re very dateable.”

“Thank you,” Junhui says, but he sounds distracted. “So are you.” 

And with _that_ particularly disarming statement, he goes silent, apparently thinking something over. 

Mingyu wants to ask him what’s wrong, ask him what he means by that, but refrains. He feels like something has caught on fire in the back of his brain. Maybe he's dreaming. That would certainly make more sense than any of this.

At the pace they're going, it doesn’t take them long to reach the art building. Halfway there, Junhui pauses mid-step. Mingyu stops too, looking at him.

“I almost forgot,” Junhui says, starting walking again, “Chan said you should text him? Something about calling in a favor.”

Mingyu covers his face with his hand for a second and tries not to trip again as he keeps follows. “Great. I’ll do that.”

“Do I want to know what that’s about?” Junhui asks, tentatively teasing. There’s something a little unbalanced about it, like he’s preoccupied, but it’s clean cut. Still genuine. 

“No, not really,” Mingyu shoots back. Chan’s probably not that serious about whatever it is, but Mingyu had said he owed him. A promise is a promise.

“If you say so,” Junhui says as they head into the art building. 

The studio is already set up when they get there, a backdrop that fades from white to black hanging on the far wall. Mingyu’s various lights are set up too. All that’s left is Junhui. 

By now it’s nearly routine, Junhui setting his backpack down and Mingyu going to take out the shoot’s outfit. 

In comparison to the other two, this outfit is tame. When Mingyu takes it out of the garment bag, it’s nothing but a three-piece suit—white shirt, steel grey pinstripes. There’s a navy blue tie and a strip of black silk hanging over the neck of the coat hanger. In short, it’s the most boring formal wear that he and Jisoo could come up with. That’s one of the points of the project of course. This final piece is boring. It’s acceptable. And once Junhui puts it on, Mingyu hopes he can show how much the style restrains a person.

An expression that looks almost like disappointment flashes across Junhui’s face for a second as he sees the suit, but it’s gone before Mingyu can comment. Junhui lays it over the empty makeup table Mingyu had dragged in, and waves him out. “Give me a second?”

“Yeah, I’ll be outside,” Mingyu replies. 

He’s less antsy this time, waiting. The suit is well fitting, designed to highlight Junhui’s lines, but no more. There should be no need for help.

He pulls up his conversation with Chan before he forgets. The last text he has is from the previous week, Chan sending him something about the troupe's rehearsal times that Mingyu had forgotten to respond to. 

[Sent 2:01] _hey! junhui-hyung said you needed something?_

[Received 2:02] _ah, mingyu-hyung! yeah, i do_

_how much do you know about junhui-hyung’s part in our upcoming show?_

Mingyu thinks for a second. He knows that Junhui has been cast as either the lead or the co-lead for the last three productions that the university has put on. It’s a lot of stress, but Junhui handles it with grace, always emerging out the other side with a stunning performance. Junhui, dancing, is like bottled lightning. He knows that’s not what Chan wants to hear though, so he types out:

[Sent 2:03] _he’s the lead again, right?_

[Received 2:04] _yeah, exactly_

_how does he do it?_

[Sent 2:04] _practice?_

There’s a moment where Chan just types, and Mingyu can almost see his eye roll, even from blocks away.

[Received 2:05] _i know that!!_

_like, who does he practice with? what does he focus on?_

[Sent 2:05] _this feels like something you should be asking him, not me?_

[Received 2:05] _yeah i thought so too_

_that’s why i wanted to ask if you’d ask him for me?_

[Sent 2:06] _why me? wouldn’t wonwoo-hyung be a better choice to persuade him?_

[Received 2:06] _he likes you a lot though, hyung_

_please? just ask whether he’d practice with me_

For a second, Mingyu just looks at the little text bubble saying “he likes you a lot” uncomprehending. It doesn’t quite look real. The fact that other—more objective—people could look at Junhui and see the same thing Mingyu’s been hoping for is unbalancing. He resists the urge to type back “he likes me???” like a middleschooler, and instead sends:

[Sent 2:06] _sure, just don’t blame me if he says no_

[Received 2:07] _thanks!! you’re the best, hyung_

Mingyu tucks his phone away with a fond grin, just in time for Junhui to call from inside the room. “You can come back in now!”

“Coming in,” Mingyu says, opening the door as instructed. “How’s the fit?”

Junhui is standing facing him, suit set neatly in place. It looks good on him, no matter the plainness; the way Junhui is holding himself elevates the whole thing from ordinary to stunning. He’s holding the strip of black cloth in his hands, mouth a confused line. “It’s good. I wasn’t sure what to do with this, though?”

“Uh, hold on to that,” Mingyu says, avoiding the subject. “Are you ready for makeup?”

“Yeah,” Junhui agrees. “Do you want me to sit over there?”

‘Over there’ is the chair set before the makeup table. Mingyu nods. “That’d be great, yeah.”

When Junhui goes, he tips his head up at Mingyu expectantly, and Mingyu swallows a brief second, fumbling when he picks up the first tube of foundation. A cloth goes over the suit to protect it from makeup. He’s not going for a complicated look, but it’s still intimidating. Even if Junhui wouldn’t mind if it got messed up, _Mingyu_ would. 

While he gets everything ready, Mingyu says, “By the way, Chan wanted to know if you’ll practice with him?” Brush in hand, he dabs the foundation onto Junhui’s face, building it slowly. Junhui’s eyes flutter shut automatically, and Mingyu takes a deep breath, picking up the contour. He’s going light with the skin products—the point is to focus on the lips.

Junhui hums. “Did he say what it was about?”

Mingyu picks up the lipstick next, skipping the eyes. He has another plan there anyway. The shade he’s got is a subdued red, something that reminds Mingyu of a fading sunset. He’s careful about applying it to Junhui’s lips. One coat, then another. “Something about your recent auditions, I think. He wants to know how to get better results."

“I thought so.” Junhui mumbles around the lipstick. “He’s been hanging around open practice more lately. It’s cute. Tell him to text me.”

“Will do. Can you…” Mingyu trails off and Junhui rubs his lips together, smoothing the lipstick out. “Perfect, thank you. Hold on a second now, I’m just going to smear it.”

Junhui’s eyes are still closed, and he hums out an agreement, face tilted up. Mingyu places his hand gently on Junhui’s jaw, thumb hovering over his lips. Junhui’s breath hits his thumb and Mingyu pulls it across his mouth. 

The action trails red over part of his cheek. It also has the side effect of making it look like he had just been kissed, which is a terrible image for Mingyu’s blood pressure. Junhui’s lips are a little parted. They had opened just slightly beneath the pad of his thumb. Mingyu tries very, very hard to forget that he now knows how soft they are.

“Ok, you’re good.”

Junhui opens his eyes. “Is that it?”

Mingyu is already putting the makeup away into the little bag he had brought it in. “What?”

Junhui gestures towards his eyes. “Nothing here?”

“Ah.” Mingyu says, understanding. “No, that’s what, uh, that’s for.” He nods towards the strip of fabric in Junhui’s hand which is, in fact, a blindfold.

Junhui pauses to take that in, and then laughs, the sound like ocean spray. “Still not done with your surprises?”

If it’s Junhui, Mingyu doesn’t think he’ll ever be done. He smiles, walking towards the set. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t,” Junhui says. “Can you tie this on?”

“No problem,” Mingyu replies. He waits for Junhui to follow him over and gestures down. “Kneel here, ok?”

Junhui raises an eyebrow at him even as he skins to his knees, and Mingyu leans forward, wrapping the fabric gently around Junhui’s head. The tails of it drape down Junhui’s back as he ties them off, careful not to pull too tight.

The blindfold is more for show than anything else; he’s more concerned about its lines than if Junhui can see. It doesn’t hurt to ask, though. “Can you see anything?”

Junhui shakes his head just a little, leaning back on his heels. “Just darkness.”

“Ok, be careful,” Mingyu says. The words are nonsensical, considering that Junhui is already kneeling.

Junhui apparently considers them equally ridiculous because he laughs, reaching out to hit him in the leg. It _hurts_ and Mingyu yelps despite himself. 

“Hey!”

“Oh whoops, sorry.” Junhui reaches out and taps a hand against Mingyu’s leg more gently. “I thought you were farther away than that.”

Mingyu rubs his—probably bruised now—shin absently and shrugs, even if Junhui can’t see it. “Don’t worry. It’s not like you can see in the dark. It could have been anything in your way.” He’s lucky the light stands are further back.

“I’d know it was you,” Junhui says, interrupting his thought. Mingyu can’t see his eyes, but his lips are quirked up in Mingyu’s favorite smile, the one that curls their corners and makes his whole face scrunch with fondness. “I could find you even in the dark.” Before Mingyu can digest that, he laughs. “Besides, you’re pretty loud! The lights don’t make noise.”

“Thanks,” Mingyu says, tone as dry as he can make it. He’s pretty sure it comes out more fond than he intends. His blood feels far too close to his skin, red running across his face, his neck, his ears. He’s just glad Junhui can’t see him.

“Are you ready to begin?”

“Yeah,” Junhui says, tilting his face in Mingyu’s direction. “Whenever you are.”

“Ok, stay just like that.” Mingyu takes a few steps back, and raises his camera. Considers. The photograph comes together like fitting puzzle pieces. Lights, stops, angles.

_Click._

The liquid focus of photography washes over his head as he keeps himself in motion, everything diamond edged with possibility.

This feels different from the other two photo shoots. Junhui can’t look at him through the camera lens, but Mingyu sees the way he follows the sound of the shutter, attention a lodestone weight. It pulls like true north, all the more arresting for the fact he’s blindfolded. 

When Mingyu finishes the roll, he takes a shaky breath. He’s not worried about how the photos came out for once. His throat feels dry, and his fingers are tingling. 

He says, “All done,” and the words come out softer than he means them to. 

This is their last shoot together, but it doesn’t _feel_ over. Junhui takes off the blindfold and stands up, stepping close. He doesn't say anything, just stands there, eyes wide. Waiting.

There’s something in the air, nearly electric, holding out like the last note of Mingyu’s favorite song. It’s something he doesn’t quite want to end yet, so he looks at Junhui. “Do you want to come back to my place? I still owe you a couple dinners for doing this.”

And maybe Junhui doesn’t want it to end either, because he gives Mingyu a velvet look and agrees.

~

Mingyu hadn’t been entirely prepared to make food when he asked Junhui come back with him. He has ingredients in the fridge enough to make garlic eggplant... maybe something with eggs? He puts off making recipe choices until he’s back at the apartment. 

It seems to take forever to get there, Junhui looking at him as they walk together. They’re close enough that the backs of their hands brush together, the touch making his fingertips buzz. He wonders if other people can feel it too, just by looking at the two of them. Can they see the way Junhui has his own gravity well, like he’s drinking in the light? Their proximity is enough that Mingyu almost wants to forget they’re in public and take Junhui’s hand in his just to see what he'd do, damn the consequences.

He doesn’t, but it’s a close fought battle.

It’s even odds whether Minghao will be home or not, depending on his final project. When Mingyu opens the door, there’s a pair of shoes missing from the front door. Minghao is still painting, then.

He waves Junhui in, taking off his shoes as he does so. “Put your stuff anywhere. Do you want a change of clothes?”

Junhui takes his shoes off as well, and nods. “Please.” 

“Great,” Mingyu says. “I think Jisoo would actually kill me if I returned that with food stains on it.”

Junhui starts unbuttoning the suit jacket, handing it to Mingyu, who puts it in the garment bag. “Jisoo wouldn’t kill you, Jeonghan would.”

Mingyu briefly recalls a drunken memory of Jeonghan smiling at him. He shudders. “That’s worse, I think.” 

“Don’t worry! I’d protect you.” Junhui starts unbuttoning his shirt next and Mingyu hands him the garment bag hastily.

“Thanks. I’ll see about finding you some clothes,” he says, and escapes the room before Junhui can start losing any more clothing. 

~

Later, after Mingyu has cooked up the eggplant in his fridge, and Jisoo’s suit has been hung (very, very carefully) in Mingyu’s closet, they sit down in the living room to eat. “You know, you never told me,” Junhui says, ensconced in a pair of Mingyu’s sweatpants and an old ratty t-shirt, cross-legged on Mingyu’s couch.

Mingyu blinks at him over a plate of garlic eggplant. “Told you what?”

“What did you see me perform that made you want to photograph me?”

The plate of eggplant doesn’t drop into his lap, but it’s a close call. Mingyu’s hands spasm around the chopsticks he’s holding, and he takes a moment to consider his answer. “Oh, that. I thought you forgot, it’s not really important.”

Junhui blinks back, earnest. “You said that last time, but I don’t think so.” Mingyu winces. The answer is embarrassing, is the thing. It exposes parts of Mingyu that have been in the dark for years now. Mingyu tries to find a way to tell Junhui this that doesn't sound pathetic. 

He could dodge the question again, and Junhui wouldn’t say anything. There’s something about the set of his mouth that says he’d be willing to wait for an answer. He’d be willing to wait for Mingyu. However long it would take. That's what does it.

Mingyu sighs. Scrubs a hand through his hair. “Do you remember your freshman year? That showcase you did spring semester, the one with Soonyoung-hyung?”

Junhui closes his eyes for a second. Opens them. “Yeah, I do. But you were still in high school then, right?”

Mingyu had been in his last year of high school, to be precise. Stuck in that precarious place where he had everything and nothing figured out, he had attended the showcase as part of a tour through the college. On stage, Junhui had been just one dancer among many. He was talented, but not outstanding. And yet, of all of them, he had been the only one Mingyu could not look away from. 

"I was in the audience," Mingyu says. "You probably forgot, but I came up to you at the end of the show, and tripped over my feet. You caught me and I—"

"Asked me for a photograph," Junhui says, in a tone of dawning wonder.

“You had to go though,” Mingyu says wistfully. It had been a hectic affair, the rush of backstage, and someone that Mingyu could now recognize as Wonwoo had called Junhui away. Junhui had shot him an apologetic look and—

“I told you to ask me later, right?” Junhui looks at him like he’s reevaluating something, setting down his plate and scooting closer to Mingyu. 

Mingyu sets his plate down as well and turns. “Yeah,” he agrees. Junhui had told him to take care of the foot he tripped over and then vanished in a swirl of stage makeup and glitter. “I was going to ask you again my freshman year, but you didn’t recognize me at all so I thought you forgot.”

Junhui’s eyes are so, so wide. “You didn’t ask again, so I figured it wasn’t important.”

If Mingyu is being honest, it wasn’t really. It wasn’t as if seeing Junhui had suddenly made the college selection process any less nerve wracking. He certainly hadn’t chosen the university based on that encounter. He was just—something unexpected in the darkness. A moment of pain before possibility kicked in. It wasn’t important except that it was a beginning. 

“I guess it wasn’t, in the end,” Mingyu says. “You’re here now.”

He waits for Junhui to say something like _that’s a rather long time,_ carefully diplomatic and distancing. Instead, what comes out of Junhui’s mouth is, “I’m glad you kept asking.” He takes Mingyu’s hand and smiles. “Your project is going to be stunning, I’m lucky to be in it.”

Up close, the sun pours amber into Junhui's eyes. Mingyu has rolls of film with Junhui’s name on them, but none of his pictures compare to Junhui himself, all messy hair and warm skin. _This_ is what longing does, Mingyu thinks. It strands him in a desert, always running towards a distant mirage, uncertain if what lies at the end is water or light.

“It’s stunning because you are,” Mingyu says. Almost without thinking about it, he leans closer. 

There’s no camera lens between them, but Junhui is still looking at him softly. There are four inches separating them. Three. Two.

“I’ve got one last surprise for you,” Mingyu says into the space between them. All cards on the table. 

“And what’s that?” Junhui’s focus is warm. Water or light. Water or light.

Instead of answering in words, Mingyu leans forward and fits his mouth to Junhui’s tentatively. It’s the kind of kiss that’s a question too, a test of ground. The afternoon light falls on them honey-edged, as Mingyu presses his fingertips to the mirage, to Junhui’s jaw, hoping that it won’t break.

And Junhui kisses him back. 

He _kisses him back._

Shock alone has him breaking away. Eyes wide, inches between them again. “You—”

“Is there something wrong?” Junhui asks. There’s a wavering emotion in his voice, flickering like light through a shutter.

“You just surprised me, that’s all,” Mingyu says. His body feels like it’s buzzing, champagne bubbles where his blood should be.

At this, Junhui laughs. “Now you know how I feel. It’s about time I turn the tables, right?” Carefully, as if Mingyu is something he wants to savor, he pulls him back in. Kisses him.

Junhui’s lips are soft. Mingyu slides on hand into his hair, not sure if he’s allowed, and lets himself fall. He leans on Junhui just a tiny bit and _oh_ imagine that. Junhui really can hold up the both of them. 

Sunlight is heavy as silk around them, and Mingyu closes his eyes. He whispers his confession into the darkness of Junhui’s mouth, hiding it like a firefly between their bodies. Small and fragile and glowing. Beneath his palms, Junhui is humming with delight, and it takes no effort at all to hear him say _yes yes yes._

~

[Photograph, taken with a film camera]. TIME UNKNOWN. Sheets are tangled around a pair of bare legs. The frame cuts off halfway up the thigh, but it’s clear that pants have not entered into this picture. There’s a ruffled spot next to them, as if someone had stepped out for only a moment, leaving the blankets mussed. It looks almost like an invitation.

~

Epilogue. _One month later._

The gallery is well lit and full of people. Mingyu is honestly surprised so many people came out to see the showcase. Nearly every graduating senior has a project up, some of them standing near their work, others roaming the floor to talk to their friends. Mingyu is doing the former, spine straight, unable to stop himself from smiling.

Already, three people have given him their business cards, and they sit snugly in his suit jacket like little possibilities. Behind him is a series of three portraits. Wen Junhui looks out from all three of them, eyes trained on the camera, trained on the viewer, trained on Mingyu.

He’s in the process of scanning the room for more of his friends—he had already spotted Seokmin in the crowd half an hour ago—when someone loops an arm around his. When he turns his head, Junhui is there, smiling. 

In direct contrast with the photos behind him, Junhui isn’t wearing anything fancy. He’s got on a pair of stonewash jeans and a loose fitting tee tucked into them, hair swept back from his brow. Mingyu wants to kiss him. 

Junhui smirks like he understands, and tugs on Mingyu’s arm. “Come on, take a break, you’ve been here for hours now.”

Mingyu follows him. Most of the crowd has passed by his project twice already, and his contact information is on the placard. He’s not too worried about missing anything. “Where are we going?”

“We’re going to rescue your roommate,” Junhui says amicably. “And then we’re going to say goodbye to Dr. Xiao and his grad students and go back to my apartment.”

In front of them, through the crowd, Mingyu sees Minghao and Seokmin trying to politely fend off several people in suits. They look like art collectors. Behind the two of them are a series of portraits—Seokmin’s face in all the colors of the rainbow. 

“And then what?” Mingyu asks.

“Well,” Junhui says, and Mingyu doesn’t even have to turn his head to know he's smiling, “that’s a surprise, isn’t it?” 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading, if you enjoyed, i'd love it if you left a comment <33
> 
> I'm on twitter/cc @lavenderim if you'd like to chat!


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